


We Can Be Heroes (If Just For One Day)

by meditationsinemergencies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Emotional Infidelity, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fairest of the Rare, Fairest of the Rare's Sing Me a Rare 2020 - UK Invasion, Gaslighting, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Rare Pairing, Slow Burn, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, implied emotional abuse, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:49:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26631652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/pseuds/meditationsinemergencies
Summary: An exploration of Petunia and Severus' relationship from 1977-1999.Winner:Favorite Anarchy Round  — SMAR UK Invasion 2020Runner Up:Best Angst —SMAR  UK Invasion 2020
Relationships: Petunia Evans Dursley/Severus Snape
Comments: 56
Kudos: 74
Collections: Sing Me a Rare: UK Invasion!





	We Can Be Heroes (If Just For One Day)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sing Me a Rare: The UK Invasion. Much love to adavison and KrumPuffer for their support while I wrote this. Thank you, adavison, for always helping me craft my writing into its final form. 
> 
> You Don't Have to Say You Love Me — Dusty Springfield
> 
> Anarchy Round: Theme — Obsession
> 
> \--
> 
> TW: This fic includes emotional infidelity, implied emotional abuse, as well as disordered eating--anorexia and bulimia are both referenced.

She spotted him beneath the large oak tree. She knew he and Lily weren’t seeing or speaking to one another, but she didn’t know why. Then again, she and Lily were not speaking either, and, somedays, she wasn’t sure why. 

In her sandals and soft-blue sundress, Petunia Evans walked down the pebbled path towards Severus Snape. He was sitting with his back against the tree, his long legs out in front of him, ankles crossed, his hands folded in his lap; his eyes were shut as his head rested on the tree. He peered one eye open as she approached and shut it again. She was standing in front of him, her lithe and long body blocking the sunlight. She tossed something into his lap. 

He opened his eyes, “What’s it this time?”

“Gruyere cheese and candied bacon scones with chives.” She said it as if it was the most disgusting thing in the world—she always did when she told him what it was her mum had given her.

She sat next to him on the ground, slipping off her sandals and felt the soft-grass between her toes. She watched as he unwrapped the wax paper, the cheese and bacon scones inside. They smelled so good, but she currently wasn’t allowing herself more than five-hundred calories a day. She’d had twenty from the cream in her tea this morning. She was down to four-hundred eighty, and she wasn’t going to use it all up now, especially since she was expected at dinner tonight with Vernon Dursley. 

He eyed her out of the corner of his eye, “You’re too thin.”

She shot a glare at him, “You have no room to talk. Do you even eat if I’m not bringing you food?”

He shrugged. 

The pair sat silently for a while when Petunia cleared her throat, “Why aren’t you and my sister friends anymore?” 

“Ask her.” 

She paused, not responding. He turned and looked at her, “You two aren’t speaking again, are you?” 

Petunia stared at him and spat, “She doesn’t like Vernon. I don’t like James. I don’t like Hogwarts. I don’t like magic. I don’t like being left out. I don’t like being abandoned.” 

Snape barked a laugh. “What the fuck do you know about being abandoned?”

Turning furiously, her knees pressed into his thigh and she ignored the jolt of warmth she felt in her gut at the contact of their bodies. “I know a lot, Snape. Not all problems present themselves as plainly as yours. Don’t pretend to know everything.” 

He turned his body, letting her knee and thigh press against him. He liked the way it felt. He liked how callus and cold she could be some days and how vitriol and hot she would be others. He liked, admittedly, that she did seem to be just as fucked up as he was. 

“Well,” he began, his voice deep and low, dripping like thick black molasses. “I know you still have your parents. No one physically abuses you. I admit that your mother may have done a number on your self-esteem, hence why you deprive yourself of food, despite the fact that I can practically hear you salivating when I take bites of the pastries you bring me.” 

The young man brought the scone up to his mouth, taking a large bite, crumbs flying onto the ground. He chewed, raising his eyebrows in enjoyment. With his mouth still full, he continued, “I know you have a boyfriend who is a bit older than you, but he has a lot of money, doesn’t he? His family status makes mummy and daddy quite happy. So, what have you lost poor poor Petunia? Hmm? Your sister? A few meals? Big fucking deal. Lily isn’t worth your time. Marry Vernon and then you can eat whatever you want. I’ve seen him. He’s quite portly.” 

Petunia’s pale skin was flushed red, her chest and neck spotted blooming in anger. “Fuck you.”

He rolled his eyes, “You think you’re going to hurt me by saying that? I’ve seen and done worse than you can imagine.”

It was her turn to laugh at him, “You’re a dirty liar, Severus. You’ve done nothing except pine over my sister and sulk all summer. You’re all bark and no bite. You and Lily will go back to Hogwarts in a few months and everything will be solved and you’ll have your pal back and you’ll be fine. And you won’t need me to bring you pastries anymore.” 

“No. Lily and I will not be the same. Not ever. There are certain things, Petunia Evans, that you do not and will not understand.”

“Why? Because I’m what...a muggle? I’m _normal?_ ” 

He nodded, “Because you’re a muggle. You, however, are _not_ fucking normal.”

She laughed at this, a real laugh, not a cynical laugh; it was high and girlish and, for a second, Severus felt something akin to affection for Petunia: a girl who had been mean to him for years in their youth, a girl who mocked him and her sister, but now a young woman who had sat next to him twice a week, sometimes more, during the summer and kept him company for a reason neither of them discussed. 

In these meetings, she always brought him food, and he noticed her weight-drop as the summer progressed: her fuller-figure slimming down, the vibrancy in her face darkening. Sometimes, in their time together, they didn’t talk at all, often they argued, and sometimes she’d ask him questions about magic; she’d ask him to show her things, even though she knew he wasn’t allowed, but he did anyway, he knew the rules no longer really mattered, at least not with the decisions he was making. He’d watch her face in amazement as he’d show her the different things he’d created. She would sit with him under the tree for a few hours and then she’d head back home to see her boyfriend or to do whatever it is she did in the hours they weren’t together. 

She nodded in agreeance, “You’re right. I’m not normal, but I have to be.” With that, she stood up, smoothing out the back of her dress. “Have a good night, Severus.” 

He shrugged and shut his eyes again as she walked back down the path. 

A few days later she found him there again, as expected, they went through the same routine: she’d toss something her mum baked into his lap, her stomach would ache with hunger, her brain would chastise her for the want, and the two would either settle in silence or bickering, occasionally having a peaceful conversation. 

It was odd--their friendship. Petunia still was not sure why Severus and Lily were no longer friends, but Lily spent so much of her summer away from home, that Petunia supposed it didn’t matter. They maintained this up through the end of August. Lily was back home, it was the weekend before she returned to Hogwarts for her last year. Petunia knew that Severus would be leaving, too. 

When they were younger, Petunia would go with her parents to take Lily to The Hogwarts Express, sometimes she’d go school shopping with them, but coming home after those trips were always so hard for Petunia. For eleven years, she’d always had a companion, and then suddenly she no longer did. Her sister had not just left her but had completely changed. The loneliness Petunia felt upon returning home from London was insurmountable. When Petunia graduated from school, the previous June, she enrolled in university to study literature. Between then and now, though, she’d met Vernon and stopped attending.

Severus was opening up the tin of biscuits her mum had baked, when Petunia broke the silence, “I’ve gotten a job in town.” 

“Yeah?” His tone was flat, lacking any inflection.

“As a typist.”

“A typist? What happened to you going to university?” 

She shrugged, “I’m not cut out for university. I’m just not smart enough, not creative enough. It’s a waste of time and money.” 

“Vernon tell you that? Or was it your mum?” 

“Which part?” She laughed cynically. Yes, her mum seemed to think university was a waste of her time. Lily had always been the bright one, the creative one. Even when they were little Petunia was much more like a tiny adult than a child: never messy, orderly, serious, quiet. Petunia was very intelligent, but she lacked confidence and aspiration. She wanted to blend in, to not stand out. She always felt like, and was made to feel like by her mum, that she paled in comparison to her younger sister, even when they were small: Bright-eyed Lily. Fiery Lily. Charming Lily. 

And so, for her, the best thing to do was to blend in, to become a flower in a field of flowers. Petunia didn’t believe she would ever be special enough to be plucked from a field and placed in a vase on a kitchen table. 

When she met Vernon, Vernon made her feel special for her complete lack of specialness: She told him about her sister, and he fueled her disdain for her, helping her turn jealousy and sadness into bitterness and revulsion. Vernon was not a nice man, but he was _mostly_ nice to Petunia. He knew how to do all the right things at the right time, things that made all the not so nice things seem like a fluke, a mistake on her part, a blip in an otherwise calm existence. Petunia knew they weren’t blips, but she was blinded by loneliness.

Over time, Vernon convinced Petunia that university was a waste of her time, that studying literature would get her nowhere, what good could come from analyzing poetry? They weren’t engaged yet, but she knew they would be soon, and he told her that the best thing for her to do was to get a simple job, a menial job, until they were married.

When Petunia and Severus began their odd-friendship, she was already dating Vernon, already immersed in his manipulations—he’d already planted too many seeds, too many roots had already taken hold. 

She sighed, “He doesn’t see the point in uni.” 

Severus gave her a questioning look, and she wasn’t sure what he meant by it. 

“So why are you quitting uni again?” His question was filled with contempt for Vernon, and she knew it. 

“Because I’ll probably be getting married in a year or so, and then I’ll be a wife. We’ll have children not long after. There’s no point in furthering my education.”

His expression turned to that of a scowl and he let out a deep sigh, as if whatever he was thinking disgusted him.

“You think that’s stupid, don’t you?” She inquired.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. Does it?” He reached over and grabbed a notebook, opening it to a blank page, and he began to draw haphazardly. 

“No. I suppose not. Do you like the biscuits mum made?” She realized she was being far more talkative than usual. Perhaps it was her own uncertainty about her future decisions that made her want to talk, made her want to move away from the conversation.”

“Yes. Did you?” He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, knowing the answer before she answered. It was clear to her that his mood had turned fowl, that he was goading her. Occasionally, he would comment on her lack of eating, but not often. She knew, though, that he knew about her relationship with food.

Once she’d slipped up and mentioned counting calories. He’d pressed her on the issue, and she began to explain her calorie counting, the way she’d punish herself for going over, how good it felt when she could eat significantly less than her allotted calorie amount. 

“No. I didn’t.” Her response was quiet.

“Try one.” He opened the tin and held it out towards her.

“No.”

“Petunia,” he snapped “why not?”

“I can’t! You know I can’t!”

“Says who?” 

Her voice was low, “I do. I say so. It’s my body. I will eat what and when and how I want. Those biscuits are loaded with sugar and butter. Do you have any idea how many calories you just consumed? Eating one of those would allow me very little for the rest of the day.”

“And then what? You wouldn’t be allowed to eat tomorrow? Petunia, that’s not healthy.”

“Shut up! Why is it that every conversation we have comes back to you telling me things I already know! Why do I even come down here to visit you?” She got up and stormed off away from him and back home.

She was angry and hungry and tired of him—of everyone. She never felt good enough. She spent so much time and effort staying thin and lithe. When she was young her size was the only thing her mother ever complimented, and so Petunia worked to perfect it. It was harder as she got older, her body wanted to curve at her hips, her thighs wanted to press together, but she knew she couldn’t let that happen. 

Her obsession with her weight and size intensified when she met Vernon—when he’d commented negatively on how much she’d eaten at dinner one night: She hadn’t eaten in thirty-six hours, she’d wanted to enjoy her night out with him, she wanted to show him that she appreciated a fine meal just as much as he did, but he was disgusted by her enthusiasm, her gusto, and when he dropped her off, she spent the next half hour with her head hanging over the toilet, vomiting up the very expensive meal. 

She worked so hard. Petunia knew her mother and, now, Vernon perpetuated this, but deep down she knew that she liked it as much as she hated it--the control of it, the fact that it helped her to be unobtrusive.

Severus had called her out, exploited her. She was so angry with him for this, and, despite how much she missed him over the course of the next few days, she let him leave for Hogwarts without saying goodbye. 

By the time the Christmas holidays rolled around, Petunia could never find the chance to go down and see if he was in the field sitting by the tree. When the Easter holidays came, Vernon was wooing her on a trip to Spain. But, by summer, Petunia found herself desperate to see Severus again. 

She was relieved that he hadn’t moved somewhere else after graduating Hogwarts, and one evening in mid-June, she walked down the pebbled path to find him sitting at the base of a tree. She smiled widely upon seeing him; he returned her smile with one of his own, and she felt, in her heart, something shift slightly, something akin to yearning. 

***

Severus didn’t fully understand how he felt about Petunia, or what he even thought about her, but in his last year at Hogwarts, he found that he thought about her more often than he thought about anyone else. 

When he didn’t see her at Christmas or Easter he was disappointed, but it didn’t stop him from waiting for her, hoping for her once summer arrived. He’d kept an eye on the papers, and he knew she hadn’t gotten married yet. He knew, then, that she would still be living at home. 

As the heat of summer crept into the night, he glanced up from his book when he heard someone approaching. Walking down the pathway towards him, he saw her, smiling widely at him. Her hair was down, falling around her shoulders in blonde waves, and the setting sun glowing behind her. 

He stood to greet her as she walked towards him, something he’d never done before. It was evident, then, to him, he knew how he felt about her. He loved her, and it was a different type of love than what he’d felt for Lily; this was not a childhood crush, an adoration of innocence and warmth, but a deep love, one that burrows inside of you, finds its home in the depths of your heart regardless of situation or time: This was a love that hurt, a love that could be cruel and unforgiving. 

This summer was different for the pair, there was still a lot of silence and bickering, but there was a tenderness behind it as if, in the year they spent apart, they came to understand one another. 

He'd confided in her as best as he could about becoming a Death Eater and Voldemort without actually explaining it to her, and she confided in him when it came to Vernon.

In developing legilimency, he found he was at first unable to control who he heard and what he heard from them. In the darkness of his bedroom, he heard her voice in his head. _Fuck him. Stupid, arrogant, idiotic man._ Upon realizing it was Petunia, he knew she had to be somewhere nearby. He slid open his window and crept into the night. He tried to find her, but her voice was quiet again. Crestfallen, he decided to walk to what he now thought of as their tree. He saw her there, sitting in her usual spot. Her blonde hair, which was usually neatly pinned up or pulled back into a ponytail was falling out of place. He found that he liked the way it looked, the soft colour pressed against her bare shoulders. 

She turned as he approached, “What are you doing here?” Her voice was soft and raw with crying. In the moonlight, he could see the tear stains against her cheeks. 

“I heard you.”

“What?” she asked, confused. 

“In my mind.” Her face looked horrified at this notion. Noting the look on her face he continued, “It was an accident. It’s something I’m learning. I didn’t mean to do it. You just sounded very distressed. I didn’t hear much. I assure you. I’m sorry.”

He turned to leave, realizing his error and the intrusion. 

“Come back. What did you hear?” Her voice was commanding with a slight edge of irritation and a slight edge of softness, a tone he’d come to associate with her.

He sighed and turned back around, walking towards her and sitting next to her. “Something to the effect of “Fuck you, Vernon Dursley. You’re a disgusting, wretched, horrid human. Also, you always have food in your ridiculously large moustache.”

Petunia snorted out a laugh, “I didn’t say those words exactly.”

“Close enough. What did the idiot do this time?”

She shook her head, “It doesn’t matter. Wait, can you read my mind?”

He nodded, “I could. I won’t. Earlier just happened. I haven’t perfected it yet.”

“Hmmmm. I suppose I should say thank you for checking in on me after you intruded into my thoughts.”

He grunted a laugh, “No. You intruded mine. I wasn’t trying to hear you, woman. You were just so fucking loud. Why did you come here?”

“Why did you?” she retorted.

He shrugged, “I suppose I find it comforting.”

“So you find _me_ comforting,” she smiled wryly at him.

“No. I find this spot comforting.”

The smile did not fade from her lips. They sat in silence for a while. As he went to speak, so did she. The words “I have…” collided with his “You know you…”

“Go on. What?” 

He pulled his knees up, in the gap between them he tugged at the grass between his legs. “You know you don’t have to marry him.”

She sighed, “Yes, I do. I’ve agreed to. We're to be married in two weeks; it’s expected. It’s what’s necessary."

“Why?” he inquired. He felt insurmountable anger towards Vernon. He'd seen the expression Petunia wore on his own mother. 

She leaned into him, and rested her fingers on his chin lightly, “For the same reason you’ve joined up with that man. Status. Acceptance. Some semblance of a family regardless of how fucked up it is.”

“It’s not the same, Petunia,” he combated.

She scoffed at him. “Here we go again with you pretending to understand everything.” She let her fingers drop down to her lap, letting them graze his leg as she did. 

“Don’t marry him,” he pleaded with her.

“Don’t do whatever it is you're doing. I don't understand everything, and I won't pretend to, but it doesn't seem good. Stay here. Find a job. You’re intelligent. You’re a right arsehole, but that’ll work to your benefit from time to time, you’ll just have to pretend occasionally.

He laughed. “It’s not that simple."

“And neither is what I’m doing, Severus,” she smiled weakly and stood up to go. He stood up as well. She was always leaving him first and too quickly, as if she were terrified to see him walk away. 

He stood close to her, looking down into her light-blue eyes. “What were you going to say? Earlier.”

She pulled her lips into her mouth, pressing them together in worry. She began to speak, her words spilling out. “I probably won’t ever see you again, so I suppose it’s okay to say this: I love you. I know I shouldn’t. I have for a while. When we were little, I loved how you would look at Lily, how you would teach her things, how you would defend her when I was being a brat. I loved you when I saw how hurt you were over losing her as a friend. I fell in love with you when you became mine. I had you. Lily didn’t anymore. We shared something and no one in the world knew about it. Not Lily. Not mum and dad. Not Vernon. Under this tree, Severus, well, there were no expectations from anyone, and under here I fell in love with you. Stupidly and painfully.” 

Severus swallowed hard, unable to say anything back to her, as she was right. It was so stupid. He had tried to ignore every iota of feeling he had had for the past year or so. However, he took this moment for himself and leaned down to kiss her. 

Their lips brushed, faintly, like a whisper, like the last brushstroke of a painting.

***

When morning came, Petunia had barely slept. All she could think about was their chaste kiss. He hadn't said anything, he hadn't responded or acknowledged that he'd even heard anything she said. Was that his response? What did it even mean, then? She was shocked to find that she didn’t feel even a trace of guilt towards Vernon. I mean, she thought, it was barely even a kiss. But it had been more than a kiss. The touch of their lips was, physically, less than some hugs, but it sparked something in her, it left her with a sense of longing, one that would stick with her for years.

***

As the soft glow of the sun filtered into her new bedroom in her new house with her new husband, she looked over at Vernon. He was a big man. Not just tall, but broad and thick in all aspects. His shoulders were bare, and in these moments, the moments where the sun warmed his skin, she knew part of her loved him quite deeply. 

In these days, in the early days of her marriage when Vernon showered her with gifts, when Vernon showed her how good he could make her feel, when Vernon helped fuel and affirm her hatred for her sister and, later, her parents, she only thought of Severus when she couldn’t sleep, when the darkness was still and thick in the room or when she was filled with anxiety and worry, when she ran her hands obsessively over her body and counted over and over the calories she’d consumed that day. Some nights, she’d realize she would miscalculate and began to plan what she’d eat the next day to make up for it. 

Petunia was constantly aware and worried about what she ate, how she ate, when she ate, along with her weight and her dress size. Somedays the obsession became exhausting and, when no one was around, she’d eat as much as she could until she physically made herself sick—in these moments she’d think of him especially. She never ate around him. She had always been the one to bring him food, but he knew. He saw through it all, and she never felt as comfortable in her own skin as she did in those moments she was around him. 

She rarely thought about Severus once she finally, after a while of trying, became pregnant with Dudley, the way Vernon doted on her then. She had been instructed by the doctors to actually put on weight, that her body needed fat to help sustain a pregnancy, and so she could let go of some of the pressures of eating during this time. She was all consumed with her husband and her growing baby. 

Once Dudley was born, she was far too tired and far too busy to think about anything other than Dudley and keeping house and keeping Vernon happy. 

Severus truly didn’t cross her mind once until mid-morning one Tuesday in October. She was folding laundry in their bedroom, and Dudley was taking his mid-morning nap when she heard the telephone chime downstairs. 

Fearful that it would wake up Dudley, she ran down the stairs and breathlessly answered, “Hello?” 

A voice she knew, a voice she hadn’t heard in years spoke, “Is this Petunia Evans?” 

“Yes. This is...well, I’m Petunia Dursley now, but, yes, this is she.”

“It’s Severus. I need to speak with you...soon.”

“Okay? Uhm.. when?” She pressed her back against the wall, clutching the phone in her hand, her heart pounding in her ears.” 

“Tomorrow morning at 9.”

She heard the line click-off, but she held it in her hands for some time while she let her heartbeat slow down. He hadn’t said where they were to meet, but she knew where—where they’d always met. 

She put the phone back on its receiver and then picked it up again, dialling Vernon’s mum, asking her to watch Dudley while she ran some errands in the morning.

The rest of her day was spent in a haze as she cleaned the house, took care of Dudley, made Vernon’s dinner, let Vernon make love to her, and, finally, fell asleep at some point past midnight. When morning came she’d never been so anxious for Vernon to leave and go to work. She got herself and Dudley ready and found herself waiting at _their_ tree at 8:45 am. After twenty minutes, she heard an odd popping sound and turned to see Severus standing there. Even though it had been just a few years, he looked much older. She felt her heart drop into her belly. The last time they’d been here, she’d told him she loved him and he had kissed her and left without saying anything. What he wanted from her now was beyond her.

He stepped towards her, “I’m sorry for calling.”

“That’s okay. What exactly is going on?”

“Lily is in danger, as is James, and so is Harry, their son.”

At the mention of Lily, her mood shifted and she snapped, “I know who Harry is.”

“Are you two on speaking terms?” 

She looked down at her hands, rubbing a small scar on her right hand and whispered, “No.” She let her left thumb graze over the scar again, and thought of all the letters Lily had sent her, ones with pictures of Harry, ones with anecdotes about her days, ones pleading her to write her back. At Lily’s last letter, the owl carrying it pecked Petunia’s hand until she finally wrote back. Petunia simply instructed her sister to stop writing to her. 

She looked back up at him, “How are they in danger?” 

“It’s very complicated, Petunia. I don’t have the time to explain it all to you, but there is a very good chance they all will die.” 

“Does this have something to do with that man? That group you were in? Do you have something to do with this?” She felt overwhelmed with a mix of anger for him and for Lily and for wizards in general. She may not have been speaking with her sister, but she liked knowing that Lily was out there in the world, happily living her life with her husband and child. 

“He is the reason... Yes... no… I’ve been trying to stop it from happening. I made a horrible mistake all those years ago. You were right. There’s nothing to be done though. I thought...I thought you deserved to know.” 

“When?”

“I don’t know. Soon. I have to go. I’m sorry.” With the same popping sound, he was gone, leaving her alone at the tree. 

Later, after errands and gathering Dudley from her mother-in-law, she sat on her bed with a pile of letters addressed to Lily, letters she’d written and wanted to send but never did, and then, finally, then, she cried. 

When Dudley woke up from his nap, he wailed and wailed and Petunia could do nothing. She let him cry along with her in different rooms of the house. Finally, she got up and put him into bed with her, cradling him to her chest and cried a bit more. Eventually, she stopped, washed her face, fixed her makeup, and continued on with her day. 

At dinner, she ate a small undressed salad and Vernon commented that he was glad she was working on getting rid of all that baby weight—fury towards him coursed through her veins, and for the first time in their marriage, she thought of Severus that night when Vernon was above her. 

She shut her eyes and imagined everything was different: If she hadn’t married Vernon, if she’d convinced Severus to stay in Cokeworth, if she’d not abandoned Lily, perhaps Lily’s life would not be a ticking time bomb. 

***

When Harry arrived on her doorstep a few weeks later, the day after Halloween, she was overwhelmed with grief, but she was grateful that Severus had warned her of Lily’s possible death, and so when she read the letter from Dumbledore, she was more prepared than she would have been otherwise. 

It took hours of fighting and crying and threats of divorce before Vernon caved and agreed to taking custody for Harry. Petunia did not share a bed with Vernon for several weeks after Harry’s arrival. She slept with her nephew in the small guest bedroom—trying to fathom what life would be like. 

As Dudley and Harry grew together, Petunia found that she loved Harry immensely, but she knew her affections and her adoration of the boy had to change. Vernon had stood firm on trying to squash out Harry’s inevitable magic. He believed that without affection, without coddling, Harry’s magic, whatever it was that made him a freak, would dissipate. Petunia knew this would not happen, she knew there was no way to stop Harry’s magic, but she found herself in uncharted territory: She had no job, no education to fall back on, no family other than Vernon’s. She had no choice but to stay with Vernon if she were to keep Dudley and Harry fed and with a roof over their heads, and as the years passed and as Vernon grew increasingly more manipulative, she grew father away from Harry, and the closer he got to his eleventh birthday, the worse things became. 

Harry's letter from Hogwarts came. Vernon tried to evade it, but she knew he'd go. Hagrid came and went. And, before she knew it Petunia again found herself outside Platforms 9 and 10. 

Without Dudley and Harry in the house, she was truly alone for the first time in eleven years. She began to think of Severus and wondered what it was he was doing and where he was. She had no idea that he was interacting daily with her nephew.

The years seemed to pass absurdly fast and painfully slow for Petunia, especially when the boys were off at school. Even though she was not allowed to show Harry affection, to be nice to him, out of fear of what she might lose in the process, she still thought of him and wondered how he was. 

At the beginning of Harry and Dudley's summer before their third year, the news and the papers were filled with reports of a mass murderer on the loose. The phone call came, like before, completely unexpected. Harry and Dudley were outside, and again, she was alone, as if he knew her schedule. Petunia was in the middle of washing dishes from breakfast when it chimed, and she didn't rush to it, she wasn't concerned with getting there quickly, she figured it was one of her neighbours calling to gossip about something.

Drying her hands on a dishtowel, she picked up the phone, "Hello?" Her voice was lazy and disinterested.

"Petunia?"

She perked up suddenly at the sound of _his_ voice. 

In a whisper, she responded, "Severus?"

"Hello. I'm sorry to bother you. I need you to make sure you keep an eye on Harry. Do not let him out of your sight. Have you seen the news?"

"About that man? Sirius Black? Why are you interested in Harry? What's going on?"

"I know Harry well. I'm one of his professors at Hogwarts. Sirius Black is a wizard. A very dangerous wizard. He aims to harm Harry. Keep him safe. He won't hesitate to harm your son or you or...Vernon either." 

She heard a click and he was off the phone. She sat down at the kitchen table, unnerved by the news: Severus had been teaching Harry. There was this odd proximity to him through her nephew, and she'd never known; Harry had never even known of the connection, but Severus had. What did that mean? Did he think of her? Did he see any resemblance of her in Harry? No. Harry barely looked like Lily, let alone hold any resemblance to her. Fear struck her when she recalled Severus' warning and she quickly stood up and ran outside to look for Harry. She had to make sure he was safe. 

Later that summer when Harry ran away, her heart would catch in her throat every time the phone rang. She was waiting on Severus to call her and yell at her for not keeping Harry safe. She was waiting on Severus to call her and tell her that Harry had been murdered. Instead, she received a terse note from Dumbledore informing her that Harry was safely at Hogwarts. 

For years, Petunia fell into a painful state of limbo again—waiting and hoping for Severus to contact her again.

When Dudley was attacked by Dementors, when Dumbledore wrote her to tell her Harry had to stay despite Vernon's outrage, when Harry was given a letter saying he was in trouble, when Petunia _knew_ something was amiss, she snuck into Harry's room one day when he was outside, and used Hedwig to write to Severus. 

_You need to meet me._

_I need things explained._

_Tomorrow at 7 pm_

_Our tree._

_Please._

_-P_

She was supposed to be playing bridge at that time, but she didn't care if Vernon found out. She was sick and tired of him, of having to play by his rules, of doing everything he wanted her to do, of sacrificing the relationship with her nephew. She wanted answers from Severus. 

It had rained all day, and the rain turned into a steady drizzle as it neared seven. She pulled her Mackintosh tightly around her, pulling the hood up, nerves pulsing through her. As she approached the tree, she could tell he wasn’t there, but it was still early—there was still time.

As it approached eight-thirty, she knew he wasn’t coming. She sat at the base of their tree, her trousers getting wet from the grass, and she began to cry—it was, at first, slow and calm, but then it turned into a hard, exhaustive cry. 

With her fists curled, she began to pound the ground, as if she were a toddler having a tantrum. As it began to rain harder, she let out a scream—one she felt she had been holding back for years: for Severus not loving her, for Lily dying, for being responsible for Harry, for all the times she didn't eat when she wanted to, for all the times she ate and felt guilty and then puked in the loo when no one was paying attention, for Vernon being a selfish pig, for her son turning into his father, for Severus not showing up now when she needed him to. Her hand landed on the root of a tree hard, and she felt the skin on her knuckles tear. She watched the blood pool for no more than a moment before she stood up, composed herself, and walked back to her car. 

She didn't notice the disillusioned figure in the distance watching and listening. 

By the time Petunia arrived home, she had decided that once the boys were done with school, she was going to divorce Vernon. She had a loose plan—she would begin looking for a job and in the next few years she would pocket any money she could: She was going to get away.

***

The next summer, when Harry was taken away by Dumbledore, she didn’t ask any questions, she didn’t pry or press him, she just numbed herself to what was going on, to this man coming in, insulting her, albeit rightfully, and taking Harry as quickly as he’d left him with her.

In the year since being rejected by Severus—the night she decided to leave Vernon—she found a job at a bookstore in the heart of town, and she truly loved it. It was warm and inviting and she felt at peace with herself on the days she worked. 

In the heart of December, only a few days before Christmas, when Petunia was walking to her car—a to-go tea in her hand, her boots crunching against the snow, she saw him and she felt as if her heart had stopped. 

For year and years, she’d fantasized about this moment, she used to live in this fantasy world, the one where she was at the zoo with the boys and he was there, the one where she was at dinner with Vernon and his colleagues and he was at the next table over, the one where he admired her from afar or the one where he found her, wherever she was, and stole her away from the world she was in. 

This, however, was no fantasy, he was hard to miss amidst all the white snow. He sat on a bench, four shops down from the bookshop. Snowflakes were getting caught in his black hair, some were gathering on the shoulders of his black peacoat. He glanced up as she approached and Petunia was stricken with how sad he looked. In all her fantasies he was desperate for her but happy. 

“Petunia.” His voice was low and, for him, somewhat timid. 

For several moments she stood in front of him, staring, still unsure of what was happening. Finally, she sat down beside him on the bench, needing to be steadied. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.”

“Me? Why?”

“I’m...I’ve...Fuck! I’ve been asked to do something horrible, something I don’t want to do, but it seems I must.”

“I don’t understand.”

He took a deep breath and began to explain everything to her: He told her about his theories on what Dumbledore meant for Harry to do, what he himself was meant to do, what the Dark Lord was trying to do. To her, it seemed as if this was a man in confession, trying to absolve his sins.

“So, you’re going to have to kill Dumbledore? At some point, you will die? Harry’s going to have to die? And Dumbledore's known all of this?” She searched his face for different answers than what he was going to give her.

“I don’t think Dumbledore had accounted for his own death, but he knew that I would die and that Potter would have to die, as well. I hope there’s an alternative for Potter.”

On a whim, Petunia reached over and took his hand in hers, she was shocked by how warm they were, even in this cold snow. Under her breath, she whispered, “Magic. What it must be to be magical.” A bit of her voice strained with envy. 

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.” He reached into his pocket and Petunia felt warmth spread from him over to her own.

Silently, they sat, mimicking the summer days they shared all those years ago. Finally, he spoke, “All those years ago, before you married Vernon. When you told me…”

That conversation was as crisp in her mind as the snow beneath her boots, “Please don’t. I was naive and—”

He cut her off, “I loved you. I’ve loved you all these years. I was foolish and selfish, and I refused to acknowledge it for so many years. I needed you to know. Just, please, know what you meant to me, Petunia, what you’ve always meant to me.” 

“I can’t…” She felt overwhelmed by this information and felt the need to flee. She’d wanted to shake him for this, for not telling her he loved her all those years ago when she’d admitted to it, for appearing and disappearing year after year. Letting go of his hand she buried her face into her palms, pressing them into her eyelids, as to stop the tears.

“You don’t have to say you love me, too. I know that was so many years ago. I just had to tell you. I don’t expect...” His voice was soft

“It’s not that. It’s not that I don’t. I don’t know. I have to go, Severus. I hope things turn out differently than you think they will. I hope you’re not right about all this.” Quickly, she left him sitting on the bench; she didn’t dare look behind her as she went. 

***

Petunia knew that Severus had been wrong about Harry’s future; Harry sat at her table, in her small country cottage every other Sunday evening. Petunia never asked Harry about the war, or about Severus. If he wanted to talk about it, he did, but she never probed. She was grateful for the opportunity to mend her relationship with her nephew, and to see the relationship between Harry and Dudley grow and change in their adulthood. Often, she thought of Severus, but she couldn’t bear to ask Harry if he’d survived the war. She didn’t know he was alive and sitting as Headmaster at Hogwarts, nor did she know that Harry saw him weekly. 

***

It took several months but Severus finally worked up the nerve to ask Harry how his family was—Petunia, Vernon, Dudley. Harry simply explained that he had no idea how Vernon was, that his aunt had divorced him, but he saw Petunia every other week and that she was doing better than she’d been his whole life. 

It was easy for Severus to find her, and he thought of how wicked time was, how unforgiving it was that now he were to find himself on the doorstep of a woman he’d loved for so long at thirty-nine years old—long past his prime, with a tired and broken body, a haunted mind, and a weary soul. 

His thoughts were broken as she opened the door. Despite her being slightly older than him, just by thirteen months, she looked so young and youthful compared to the last few times he’d seen her. It was evident that she’d gained some weight, and this was an immediate relief to him, knowing so well the difficulties she faced with it. She had cut her hair short, her wavy blonde hair resting below her ears. The cut accentuated her graceful neckline and her beautiful collar bones, and her face wore a look of pleasant shock. 

Wordlessly, she invited him into her home, and, as he stepped in, she leaned comfortably against the frame. One foot pressed flat against the wood, her dress resting just above her knees He searched her face with desperation for some sort of answer, some sort of confirmation that it was okay that he was here, that she wanted him here for the same reasons he wanted to be here. 

Under his gaze, he saw a blush creep up her neck and bloom across her cheeks. He stepped towards her, his hands uncomfortable and stiff by his side, she reached forward and pulled his arms to her, resting his hands upon her hips. 

Her pale blue eyes met his black, he leaned into her and saw her eyelids close in anticipation. He drank her in—the colour on her cheeks, her peach lips, parted and soft, the small silver studs in her ears, and, finally, he kissed her. Her lips were warm against his, which were cool from the air. Gently her hands moved to his shoulders, resting there as they kissed. Their mouths opening just so, timidly exploring years of hidden longing. He felt as if he were unable to pull away from her, as if he could stand here for the rest of his life languidly kissing her. One of her hands moved down his chest, her fingers tracing down to his hips and a surge of arousal led him to suck her bottom lip between his teeth. 

She was the first to break away, and the feel of the air against his lips made him want to cry with want for her mouth pressed to his. Leaning in again, she kissed him roughly—lip sucking and teeth clanking. Frantically they began to feel each other’s bodies with earnest exhilaration, no words between them yet spoken.

He found himself sitting with his back against her door, the buttons to his trousers undone, and she was straddling him, her dress hiked up to her waist. Her skin was soft as he kissed and nipped at her neck and chest while she rocked her hips against him, pushing him deeper inside of her. He admired the small beads of sweat that had formed at her temple, the blooms of red spreading across her chest, and the shape of her mouth when she moaned. It was frantic and quick and so unexpected that he was unable to not come too quickly. He readjusted her on his lap and kissed her lips while his fingers found her warm centre, soft and sweet. Sliding his fingers into her, her thumb tenderly grazing her clit, he touched and led her body into a blistering orgasm. Her face pressed into his shoulder, she quelled the tears forming from the orgasm, from the emotional release, from him just being here with her—that he was alive. 

That evening, after they’d made their way to her bed and made love again, she went to the kitchen and brought back tea and some biscuits that she’d made. He groaned in pleasure at how delicious her baking was. She tugged the tin out of his hands. “They’re not all for you,” she said with a wink and took out three cookies, dunking one into her tea before taking a bite, and the pair sat in silence sharing sweets.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Better Than My Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27813001) by [adavison](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adavison/pseuds/adavison)




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